I took a wrong turn and found the street

I took a wrong turn and found the street,

the building smaller than my memory,

or I'd grown, and now we couldn't meet

the same way—time had changed the story.

The fire escape had different plants,

succulents where I used to sit

and believe the city held my chants,

that this place would never quit.

Someone else's curtains were

hanging where I used to hang mine.

Someone else had lived there

and made it their design.

I sat in the car and watched

the window where I used to be,

as if the past could still be botched

into something that matched me.

But the window stayed dark.

The apartment moved on.

The city left no mark

of the person I'd been. She was gone.

I drove away from that street,

back the way I came,

trying to make the feat

of figuring out: was it love of the place or love of my name?